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LANDSCAPE VIEWS 



N E W-E N G L A N D. 



EDITED BY GEO. C. MORGAN. 



NO. I. 



NEW YORK : 

MORGAN & WATERHOUSE, 
221 PEARL-STREET. 

1847. 






NEW- YORK : 



WJLLIAM VAN NORDliN, PRINTER, 
NO. 39 WILLIAM STREET. 



JOHN KEESE, Esquire 



TO WHOSE REFINED TASTE AND ARDENT DEVOTION 

THE 

POETRY OF AMERICA 

IS so GREATLY INDEBTED, 

THE ANNEXED POEMS, 

AS AN HUMBLE EXPRESSION OF SINCERE ESTEEM, 

ARE RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, 

BY HIS OBLIGED SERVANT, 

THE EDITOR. 



INTRODUCTION. 



One of the distinguishing characteristics of the land- 
scape of Connecticut is her varied and romantic scenery. 
Occasionally a beautiful plain with slight undulation of 
surface, stretches away for miles in length and width, wa- 
tered by clear streams, pencilhng their long, crooked lines, 
widening at times into deep placid bays, or narrowing to 
angry rapids; variegated with patches of forest, single 
shade-trees, gray rocks, village clusters, adorned with 
sweet farm-houses and dotted at intervals with herds of 
busily feeding cattle. From the borders of such a plain, 
the ground often swells into the strong contrast of abrupt 
and precipitous ; into what indeed by the side of the 
Alleghany would be but a mere hillock, but which, 
nevertheless, in the rural scenery which surrounds it, 
comes up to the idea of a very fair Mountain. Ascend- 
ing one of these delightful eminences in a clear day, the 
eye of the spectator is enchanted by the rich picture opened 
to his view. Here perchance he may behold distant 
mountains of equal or superior magnitude quietly reposing 
against the blue sky, with their green wooded summits 
holding playful dalliance with the pure fleecy clouds. 
Between, stretches the valley, a miniature world, peopled 
with all the busy elements of life and animation. Here 
you trace the long highway winding with a thousand sinu- 



VI INTRODUCTION. 

osities around little hills, by venerable centenary shades, 
among sleeping farm-houses peeping through the green 
leaves of the surrounding foliage ; with here a cart and 
there a carriage, now a gentleman of leisure on horse- 
back, then a pilgrim in dusty apparel, bearing his staff, 
until lost in greenness and distance. Then you behold 
the slow river winding among clumps of Willow and 
Maple, butting against a steep bluff bank, then rebound- 
ing with a long graceful curve around a level meadow, 
fringed at its brink with dwarf flowering bushes; from 
thence at another angle descending a sparkling rapid and 
washing the shore of an immense pasture nipt off to a 
short velvet plush carpet down to its very edge. Then 
you mark the innumerable cultivated fields divided into 
squares, hexagons, every imaginable regular and irregular 
figure, bounded by every variety offence which the taste of 
a hundred different landlords can invent or supply. You 
also admire the green tracts of forest trees, and while you 
admire, think of the soft lounging places and the cooling 
shade beneath their thick boughs. Look then among the 
fields, and there you behold isolated trees which the axe 
of the woodman has spared, tall, expansive and benig- 
nant; lofty arching Elms, conical Maples, towering Hick- 
ories, or the massive and aged Chestnut, where the cattle 
retire from the heat, or the laborer gathers fresh strength 
during intervals of toil in the sultry harvest and hay-ma- 
king. A hundred other objects of interest and beauty to 
the delighted eye, go to complete the grand picture seen 
from these mountain elevations, and of such, few surpass 
in magnificence, variety and extent, the prospect from the 
summit of Beaver Brook Mountain, and the bold, native 
scenery around Lake Neversink. 



INTRODUCTION. 



In the annexed poems our authors have sketched with 
a bold pencil, a vivid imagination, and a thrilling subli- 
mity of thought, the lofty, perpendicular cliffs of hoary 
rock rising in eternal majesty and strength from the level 
plain, as well as the equally enduring beauty and quiet 
freshness of the romantic old Lake. Each writer is on 
familiar terms with the scenery which he has chosen for 
his subject. Both have thus far passed their days in the 
homes of their fathers, in close proximity to these enchant- 
ing retreats, and caught the inspirations of song from such 
sublime and eloquent teachers. Nor do they owe to these 
alone the impulse which called forth the sweet aspirations 
of their muse. Friendship of a pure and exalted nature 
for one who was eminently worthy of such offerings, and 
who to both had endeared himself by acts of no common 
generosity, prompted them to look about for a subject 
whose inspirations might minister acceptable food to his 
exalted taste and refined judgment. Nor did they search 
long in vain. The tall brow of the rock-bound mountain 
imparted to one the impulse which he sought, while the 
gray highlands and the glassy bosom of the quiet Lake, 
awoke a similar chord in the imagination of the other. 
And the Editor deems it no superfluous remark in the 
present connection to say that both poems on their comple- 
tion were submitted to that friend, who hesitated not to 
avow his approbation, by becoming prominently instru- 
mental in bringing them in their present form before the 

public. 

In view of these facts the Editor presents himself res- 
pectfully before his readers ; and should they look with 
an eye of kindness on this first humble attempt to minister 
to a refined moral taste, it may perhaps be but a prelude 



Tni INTRODUCTION. 

to Others of an equally interesting nature. In the endless 
diversity of scenes and subjects which rise up before the 
heart, alive to the sweet influences of nature's works ; in 
the bosoms of friends which are made to glow with feelings 
of rapture at these humble exercises of the muse, are to 
be found more than sufficient inducements to continued 
exertion. Still, in the present instance, the authors them- 
selves have come diffidently before a community whose 
taste the Editor greatly misjudges if they are not at the 
least indulgently received. Feeling no desire for bubble 
reputation, or poetical fame, it is only at the instance and 
strong solicitations of friends that they are thus induced 
to appear. 

In the pictorial embellishments of the sceneiy embraced 
in the Poems, the Editor looks for another prominent fea- 
ture in the interest of the work. They are executed by 
an artist of fine taste, whose works will bear rigid com- 
parison with those of any other in the city. They were 
originated expressly for this publication, and have been 
used antecedently in no other. 

Thus, then, the Editor commits his frail little skiff to 
the stream of public opinion. Whether it will be directed 
into favorable currents, and wafted by prosperous breezes 
into the harbor of confidence and respect, or dashed by 
the sullen breakers of scorn and neglect on the shoals and 
quicksands of oblivion, time alone will determine. " What 
is writ, is writ," and whether it might have been worthier 
or not, is not his province at present to discuss, but leave 
the question to the reader's better decision. 

THE EDITOK. 

New- York, November 12th, 1847. 



BEAVER BROOK MOUNTAIN, 



A RURAL SKETCH. 



BY H. B. WILDMAN. 



Yes ! thou art grand in nature's form, 

Proud pillar of the skies ! 
Thy head still gleams above the storm, 

Where fadeless verdures rise. 
Thy granite cliffs in columns stand. 

Like sculptur'd Fanes of old ; 
And thou, eternal, silent, grand. 

Art glorious to behold. 

Thou still art tow'ring in thy might. 

In majesty sublime ; 
Still breasting tempest, storm and night. 

Proud monument of Time ! 
And hast thou thus forever stood, 

Exulting in thy pride. 
While Time hath roll'd his ceaseless flood 

Of ages down thy side ? 



10 BEAVER-BROOK MOUNTAIN. 

Yes ! ihou hast stood 'mid storms that roll, 

Where gathering tempests bow ; 
And smiled while thunders shook the pole, 

And light'nings scath'd thy brow. 
Thou'st seen the storms of empire shroud 

The Nations in decay ; 
And thou hast stood a fortress proud, 

Amid the dark'ning spray. 

Revolving years have round thee past, 

And many a hope hath fled, 
Since thou above the wint'ry blast. 

Hast held thy hoary head : 
Friends have departed, one by one. 

Like leaves upon the tide, 
And joys have pass'd, which brightest shone 

Like gems of summer's pride. 

Princes and Kings have held their sway. 

And groan'd beneath their trust ; 
Empires and Kingdoms pass'd away. 

Or crumbled to the dust. 
Poets have hymned their sweetest lays. 

And Heroes toiled for fame ; 
Aspiring monarchs wept for praise. 

Or sunk to endless shame. 



BEAVER-BROOK MOUNTAIN. H 

Winter hath rear'd with icy hands, 

His tower upon thy crest ; 
And Age hath hcap'd his burning sands, 

Upon thy hoary breast. 
The lightning storm hath swept thy verge ; 

And on their tempest march, 
The winds have sigh'd their solemn dirge. 

Within thy holy arch. 

A thousand fiery bolts have torn 

The ensigns of thy power ; 
And storms of thousand years have worn 

Their channels down thy tower. 
But though rude storms and tempests bow, 

And thrones of ages fall. 
Thy hoary front and flinty brow 

Still triumphs over all. 

No more within thy peaceful wood 

Gleams forth the night-watch glare ; 
But flowrets spring where stains of blood, 

Once mark'd thy desert lair. 
Ah, yes ! There is of thee to tell, 

A tale of frightful dread ! 
A legend of a chief who fell. 

And in thy caverns bled. 



12 BEAVER-BROOK MOUNTAIN. 

Beneath the hemlock's quiet shade, 

Once gleam'd the red-man's fire ; 
And yonder stands upon the glade, 

The shrine of Indian ire ! 
Still in the forest's dark retreat. 

Remains the lonely cell, 
Where spectre-forms are said to meet, 

And where strange spirits dwell. 

It is in sooth a desert shrine. 

Where holy thoughts arise ; 
Indeed it seems a place divine, 

So calm its beauty lies. 
Beneath the mountain's airy height, ' 

The river winds its way, 
And on its face in liquid light, 

The moon reflects her ray. 

The varied gems of nature's dress, 

Awake the wand'ring eye ; 
And dew-drops tremble on each tress. 

To light the Fairies by. 
In such a calm and lone retreat. 

Remote from worldly noise. 
It is not strange that spirits meet. 

To dream of brighter joys. 



BEAVER-BROOK MOUNTAIN. 13 

The night was calm ; — and from her throne 

The moon look'd brightly round ; 
The stars in tranquil glory shone, 

On stream and forest ground : 
The wolf had sought her quiet den, 

The night was near its close, 
When sudden through the mountain glen. 

The death-cry fiercely rose ! 

The morning broke, — and bright its ray 

Shot through the hunter's shed ; 
The white-man, passing on his way. 

Beheld the chieftain dead. 
An Indian maiden lowly bent, 

Alone was standing there. 
And with her tresses wildly rent, 

Was raving in despair. 

The savage band had sought their trail, 

Unmov'd by fear or thought ; 
Their yells were borne upon the gale — 

The recreant deed was wrought ! 
And she, the Indian maid alone, 

Was left the tale to tell ; 
To soothe the hunter's dying groan, 

Within the lonely cell. 



14 BEAVER-BROOK MOUNTAIN. 

She said it was a jealous love 

For her, that wrought the strife ; 
That nerved them in tlie silent grove, 

To plunge the fatal knife ! 
Long years pass'd by ; but still the same, 

The maiden came to mourn ; 
So ardent was the tender flame 

She for her chief had borne. 

And still, when summer's fragrant flowers 

Put forth their early bloom, 
She comes with garlands from the bowers. 

To strew his lonely tomb. 
Upon the mountain's craggy side, 

Where strangers seldom roam. 
At times the maid is seen to glide, 

A maniac from her home. 

But scenes like these have pass'd away : 

Then let us change the theme. 
And muse again, beneath the spray 

That shades the mountain stream. 
For thou art dear, my native mount. 

In all thy pride array 'd; 
And bright as when the chrystal fount 

First issued from thy shade. 



BEAVER-BROOK MOUNTAIN. 15 

Thou still art bright ! thy glowing charms 

Are mirror'd on each rill ; 
And glories nurs'd in nature's arms, 

Concentrate round thee still. 
Oh ! I have oft enraptured stood, 

And gazed upon thy dome ; 
And fondly wish'd the dark-green wood 

Might ever be my home ! 

Within thy dells, so passing fair, 

Where flow'ry branches twine. 
Alone I've stray'd from worldly care. 

To worship at thy shrine. 
And oft beneath yon aged beech 

I've led the " sportive throng," 
And there, alone, I've strove to teach 

My harp some sweeter song. 

Lull'd by the music of the breeze. 

Within thy shady bower, 
Beneath thy forest-spreading trees, 

I've,pass'd the twilight hour. 
And high upon thy beacon crest, 

Around the rocky fane. 
While dews were trembling on thy breast, 

I've joined the vesper strain. 



16 BEAVER-BROOK MOUNTAIN. 

I've stood where once the chieftain brave 

His Indian trophies hung ; 
And heard within thy rock-bound cave, 

The forest legends sung : 
I've pluck'd the flowers that sweetly blush'd, 

Upon thy moss-grown seat ; 
And quaff 'd the fragrant dews that gush'd 

From founts beneath thy feet. 

Oh, it is sweet to thus recline, 

'Mid scenes of calm repose ; 
And all the cares of life resign, 

To dream away its woes ; 
To watch the stars, when evening shrouds 

The distant landscape o'er, — 
To revel high among the clouds. 

Where Fancy loves to soar. 

To hear the bells that sweetly toll. 

Upon the evening air; 
To hold communion with the soul, 

Or breathe the fervent prayer. 
Yes, it is sweet, — but I must now 

Forego the pleasing strain ; 
Resign my theme with aching brow, 

To join the world again ! 



BEAVER-BROOK MOUNTAIN. 17 

Then fare-thee-well ! Old Mountain Tower ; 

Fate deigns that I must roam ! 
But Spring returning to thy bower, 

With her, again I'll come. 
Farewell ! and may'st thou ever stand 

Unyielding in thy sway, 
'Till TIME shall lift his fatal hand. 

And mountains fade away. 



LAKE NEVERSINK 



BY J. W. NICHOLS. 



I. 

Beside the lofty mountain's base, 

Or less romantic land, 
Thou, Neversink ! with emblem face, 

Of pure content doth stand. 

II. 

And thou art looking up as bright, 

Into the deep blue sky, 
As when that dome of living light 

Was hung at first on high. 

III. 

The changes human works have known. 

That all their pages fill ; 
The Empires risen, flourished, gone. 

Have left thee changeless still. 



20 LAKE NEVERSINK. 



IV. 

The mighty Cities far and wide, 
In dust and ruins now, 

By human fury, hate, or pride, 
Have wrinkled not thy brow. 



Thy waves roll smoothly now as when 

Immortal Csesar shone ; 
Ere vengeance fell on Sodom's plain, 

Or Tyre was overthrown. 

VI. 

The noblest kingdoms of the Earth, 
Have vanished with their might ; 

And perish'd all of knightly birth, 
And still thy face is bright. 

VII. 

Upon Parnassus' lofty hill 

The fabled light is gone. 
And by Apollo's sacred rill. 

The tables overthrown. 



LAKE NEVERSINK. 21 



YIII. 



The glories of old Greece and Rome, 
Are number'd with the past ; 

The Sybils vanished from their home, 
But thou art standing fast. 

IX. 

The mountains, too, with lofty brow, 
Who stand like living truth, 

Are hoary now with age — -but thou 
Art fresh as early youth. 

X. 

Thy source is from a thousand springs, 

Exhaustless as the Sun, 
A thousand Zephyrs, with their wings, 

Still fan them as they run. 

XL 

Thy waters to the Ocean tend, 

And thence in vapors rise ; 
Upon the hills again descend. 

Or float around thy skies. 



22 LAKE NEVERSINK. 



XI I. 

And though Old Ocean laugh at thee, 

In all his bloated pride, 
Still each to each must ever be, 

Supplier and supplied. 

XIII. 

'Tis thus a round of order grand, 

Unseen to vulgar sight. 
Shall keep thee, while the Earth shall stand, 

Forever clear and bright. 

XIV. 

So when, a few more seasons gone, 

Our sands of life are run, 
Thy waves will roll as smoothly on, 

As brightly greet the sun. 

XV. 

But some have said there is in man, 

A spark of life and light, 
That lives beyond the narrow span. 

Which bounds terrestial sight. 



LAKE NEVERSINK. 23 



XVI. 



Yes, Neversink ! we talk of skies 
Where we may outlive thee, 

Where we shall see through purer eyes, 
And more immortal be. 

XVI I. 

We talk of ever blooming lands, 

By no horizon bound ; 
Where hill on hill of pleasure stands, 

In one eternal round. 

XVI 1 1. 

Where we can dwell as thou hast done, 
Within thy rock-bound lair, 

And see eternal years roll on, 
Without a gloom or care. 

XIX. 

Impressive thought! and is there such 

Eternity above ? 
How can we cultivate too much 

Our Friendship and our Love. 



24 LAKE NEVERSTNK. 



XX. 

Ah, Neversink ! is not thy race 

Alhed to Angels nigh ; 
Else, how could looking on thy face 

Exalt our thoughts so high. 



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